A Storm Coming
by whathobertie
Summary: Darkness. Pain. Blood. Repeat. Cal/Gillian friendship, angst.


**TITLE:** A Storm Coming**  
GENRE:** Angst**  
CHARACTERS:** Cal, Gillian**  
PAIRING:** Cal/Gillian friendship**  
RATING:** R**  
SPOILERS:** None**  
WORDS:** 1,500**  
SUMMARY:** Darkness. Pain. Blood. Repeat.

* * *

_a._

He calls her number, fingers shaking.  
Swallowing his own blood—the metallic taste of it running down his throat and leaving marks for a strange kind of eternity.  
He swallows more, but the taste just gets stronger.

_b._

She arrives and he can see the wounds on his face mirrored through the shock on hers.  
She helps him up from the dirty street of the dark back alley, because with probably two or three ribs cracked he isn't even able to do that on his own.  
All she asks is why he hadn't called an ambulance right away.

_c._

In the hospital she stays as close as possible.  
They stop the bleeding, bandage open wounds, x-ray his upper body, look for internal trauma, and order him to rest.  
In all honesty, he is slightly scared—not necessarily because of the procedures, but of what might come.

_d._

He remains in the hospital against his will and she remains next to his bed against the rules.  
It's early morning shortly before dawn and she is still awake, but he can see that all she wants is some peaceful sleep without having to worry about him.  
She quietly wants to know whether he saw any of their faces.

_e._

The police ask him the same questions she has.  
But unlike her, they know nothing about him and they don't have a clue how to interpret his scarce answers.  
He is not ready to tell them what he really thinks might be going on, because there's this fear again, and looking at her for just the briefest of moments reinforces it.

_f._

His wounds heal slowly but steadily, and he remains the tough guy nobody can get down so easily.  
But he sees her worried about him and comes to her office late at night to comfort her.  
They share that intimate kind of hug during which she confronts him with an honest truth about not wanting to be involved in the crimes of this city anymore.

_g._

The second time is worse in many ways.  
All his wounds are cracked open again and new ones have found the way onto his body, while he lies there in misery until he finds the right combination of finger movements to call her.  
Only then he realizes that he has no idea where he is or—even worse—how he has gotten there.

_h._

They figure out his location together from the hints that are there.  
She arrives and does her best to not show him all of the despair and anguish she is probably feeling.  
She wants them to call the police and get whoever is behind this, but he just begs her to bring him to the hospital, so he can get better first.

_i._

He looks into her eyes and she just stares back silently.  
Cal, she probably says in her mind, and it doesn't need actual words to know she is angry because she is worried about him.  
She wants him to acknowledge what's going on, but he wonders if it might only make things worse.

_j._

He talks to the police again.  
They take down notes on his vague suspicions, cases they've recently worked on, enemies they might have made.  
The doctors find traces of GHB in his blood and it scares him a tiny bit more.

_k._

He walks to his car in the dark, extremely aware of his surroundings.  
Nothing happens, but the sheer fear of them breathing down his neck drives him crazy enough like nothing in his life ever did.  
He drives to her place and asks her if he can stay in her spare bedroom.

_l._

Nothing happens for a week, but he can sense a storm coming.  
They solve some cases, pretend everything is more or less normal, although his walk is stiff and crooked from broken ribs and other ailments.  
He spends all his nights in her house, glad she understands.

_m._

Whatever they did before, they just did it to see who was the first person he would call when push came to shove.  
Then they would work with that—use it.  
He realizes it, but by then it's too late and his desperate calls fade into nothingness.

_n._

This time it's her who calls him eventually and this time he comes with the police right away.  
She is shaking from shock and fear, but a scratch on her forehead is the only physical wound she carries away from it.  
He is so incredibly angry that he can feel his ribs break again from the sheer force of it.

_o._

They sit in a hospital room where they checked on her just to make sure.  
She is strong and gives him a reassuring squeeze of her hand, but he just shakes his head, because it's only bearable as long as he is the one who gets hurt.  
They've been at this point before, but this time he truly doesn't know what to do.

_p._

They don't want to kill him or seriously hurt anyone close to him.  
He realizes that what they want is to play mind games, to scare him, to break him or whatever is needed to make him pay.  
He can't give them what they want, though; he can't let fear take over.

_q._

He sits in her kitchen in the middle of the night and thinks about life.  
His bones still hurt, but his heart hurts more for ever having put her into danger and not being able to protect her.  
She comes down the stairs eventually, sits down next to him and promises that things will get better.

_r._

Things do not get better.  
They don't come back, but he feels like he is slowly losing his mind, expecting danger behind every corner and being unable to continue his work properly.  
He can hide it from his staff for some time, but he should have known that there is no way to hide it from her.

_s._

It's another night, but again she reassures him that everything will be alright.  
She pats his hand and they make some plans for how to tackle the cases at the Group; maybe even go somewhere for the weekend to clear their heads.  
He appreciates it, but he still can't shake off the feeling of being followed.

_t._

When he wakes up after not remembering anything, the first thing he checks is for pain.  
But although he is lying in a dark back alley again, grit between his teeth, there is no pain this time, just a lifeless body next to his.  
The dead man's blood is on his hands.

_u._

Despair is the only thing he feels while sitting in this interrogation room.  
The police officer comes back after what felt like an eternity and to his utter surprise he says that he is allowed to leave, free to go.  
She is already waiting for him outside, hugging him with tears in her eyes.

_v._

She buys him a bottle of water and they sit down in the entrance area of the police station.  
She tells him about the private investigator she had hired to follow him around—who witnessed the attack and knew that it weren't Cal's hands who had killed the man.  
She knows he would never have approved, but now he is glad she has his back.

_w._

His hands are still shaking when they arrive at her house.  
He can feel the blood on them, although it is long washed off by now; but the chilling sensation remains like a second skin impossible to shed.  
He spends the night next to her in bed, reading a romance novel he despises and can't follow.

_x._

He goes into witness protection for a while and doesn't see her.  
He isn't a witness of anything, just the detector of a bunch of lies that brought other people closer to prison and him apparently closer to danger.  
As it is only this danger he sees everywhere now, he thinks he lost his ability to detect anything else.

_y._

They meet again some two months later—heads cleared a little.  
They arrested someone, but there's no proof it's really _them_—so their hug is laced with uncertainty and misplaced fear of the unknown.  
Still, she smiles and he smiles back.

_z._

When he wakes up, there is darkness again—amplified by dull thuds somewhere close, but far away.  
His heart begins to race, every muscle in every limb ready to fight or flight, his breathing heavy until it is out of control.  
Ssshh, she calms him and touches his arm, it's just a storm coming.

That is exactly what he is fearing.

**THE END**


End file.
